


Withdrawal Symptoms

by Narroch



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narroch/pseuds/Narroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light really should have included some apple insurance in his master plan, especially since he is now the only fruit left lying around to tempt a hungry Shinigami. The amnesia and voyeur certainly don't help either of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withdrawal Symptoms

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this back in '10 on fanfiction.net. Moved it over here to save it from the Purge of Filth.

It was another sleepless night for Light, though he couldn't be confident that it actually _was_ night. It was by cruel design that he had only the sparsest information to go on; he could only hazard a guess at the time since L's monotone communications had ceased. The frequency and intensity of the questions came in waves; the intervals of silence were his only external regulation – completely unreliable but still at least _something_ to calculate.

His cell was tiny as always and he had long since memorized every detail of the space; his eyes ached from being unable to focus on anything outside of a seven foot radius. And it was dark as always, not a single window by which to make even the most rudimentary judgment of daylight. It didn't help that his internal clock had been unplugged long ago after waking from a dream in which he was _Kira_ and death had been his companion. He had been startled by the dream but was even more disturbed by the waking nightmare that followed: the reality that he was imprisoned, that he had no possible way to prove his innocence and that _he_ had been the one to turn himself in.

And now, in his presupposed night, Light couldn't sleep. The circulated air in the cell was cold but the concrete floor he lay on was colder still. Light couldn't even move his arms to warm himself; his shoulder blades were shot through with pain from being cemented in the awkward position for so long. It was impossible to find a comfortable arrangement. Only extreme exhaustion would eventually, inevitably, put him under.

Sleep was his only respite from the incessant questioning, both L's and his own, the unbearable injustice, the extreme stretches of boredom made all the more acute by his genius. The heavy artificial silence would wrap his fevered brain in its folds, numbing him until he awoke for the next stint of self-imposed insomnia.

It was endless.

Light gave an inaudible sigh and struggled to roll onto his stomach. The constant ache in his arms had begun to sharpen into a point in his shoulder and he had to move ( _again_ ) to stop it from turning into a full blade. The pain began to subside after he flopped over, trickling slowly back into his veins, though he was still uncomfortable with the position. His cheek pressed onto the cold floor, his unwashed hair hanging over his eyes, hands trussed up behind him curled into a stiff grip and sleep still far off.

Suddenly Light felt the faintest sensation trickle across his newly-revealed back. It was soft enough to be simply passed off as a draft of air but a sudden instinctive fear coupled with the undeniable fact that there were no drafts Light didn't know about in his caged, claustrophobic world instantly made him stiffen and jerk his head back to see what had touched him.

Arching and craning awkwardly, nothing but the same blank walls greeted him.

Suddenly the speaker clicked on and L's graceless tone began to drip through the air:

"Light-kun, is something wrong?"

Light suppressed a groan as his assumption of the time of day was swiftly severed. Just because L had gone silent didn't mean he wasn't still lurking behind his cameras. Light knew that every second of his existence was recorded and observed at some point but it still made him feel paranoid to realize that someone was physically there watching him after he had deduced that he was alone. The sudden voice after so much silence unnerved him almost as much as the fresh draft of air after so much stillness.

But with nothing to account for and L still awaiting an answer, Light shrugged it off as shattered nerves.

"I'm just tired, I guess," he mumbled, letting his head sink back to the ground, apathetic even in his excuses.

There was a long pause; Light was almost about to give up on a reply when the speaker clicked again.

"If that's the case then Light-kun should go to sleep."

 _Easier said than done!_ Light thought angrily, wanting to yell out. He bit it back, nothing would help and anything he did might only make him more suspect. He huffed and turned his head to the other side, resolutely shutting his eyes as if making a statement to L.

However, as soon as he relaxed, the draft came again, more definite this time. He _knew_ he wasn't imagining it as a feather tipped touch dragged up the center of his spine, spreading out tendrils of goosebumps in its wake. He jerked violently, turning himself to the side, glaring into the empty space. There was still nothing – nothing that could explain it away.

He knew L was watching and he felt self-conscious enough already without the cameras. Just as he started to think of an excuse to feed L, the thought occurred to him that perhaps it was a test, another sick clandestine measurement of the detective's. And even as he lay on his side digesting the idea that L was messing with him _somehow,_ the touch came again, noticeably more solid. It _was_ a finger, not a draft or his imagination but a solid finger slipping across his shoulder blades and trailing like cool water down his back.

"L, what the hell are you trying to pull?" Light growled, twisting to glare at the camera.

There was no response.

The finger continued to stroke downward, pressing against each individual vertebra as if relishing the solid bones pressing through the vaporish touch. Light finally broke free from a shudder and rolled onto his back in an attempt the squash the sensation but it continued nonetheless, caressing him straight through the concrete.

"I don't know how you're doing this but you're not proving anything by trying to terrorize me!" Light yelled.

Even as the words left his lips, the single finger became a palm, _far_ too large but still undeniably the shape of a hand resting on his back, slowly moving down to settle on his hip. A second phantom hand joined the first, gripping the other side; the palms were so freakishly large that they could almost fully encircle Light's waist.

Light didn't believe in the supernatural, in psychic abilities or anything beyond the bounds of logic as cold and essential as the edge of a knife. However, in that cell, with the unthinkable happening to him, a haunting far beyond his control and beyond his worldly rationale, Light swallowed hard, feeling the denial slip down his throat to be replaced with a steep, creeping fear.

No matter how he looked at it, there was no way L could be doing it. It felt like the hands were actually touching his bare skin, as if they went right through the clothing. Perhaps it was simply the case that he had finally lost his mind and the imaginary ghosts were swimming in his straitjacket. The thought made the breath catch in his throat as he tried to absorb that possibility, though he didn't have the time to process anything as the cool hands slipped down and began to knead and caress his ass.

Panic settled in various conflicting shades.

It wasn't until he felt something nudge between the crease of his buttocks with obvious intent, undeniably male, long and hard and heavy, that he stopped thinking for an instant where his genius dissolved and he became pure nerves and instinct, both of which screamed fear.

He knew it had to be a cock, it couldn't be anything else. Light could still feel both hands busy palming his ass, fingers long enough to hook sharply onto his hip bones and, being male himself, he recognized the experimental prodding search for the point of least resistance before penetration.

Light yelled, kicking back and rolling over to dislodge whatever it was. But even as he rolled over, the sensation remained, moving with him as if attached on a separate gravitational axis, caressing him through his clothes, through the floor, through reality.

Light's struggles were useless and he knew that, even if he had not been trussed up, he still would have been helpless against the permeable phantom, but the bindings made him feel vulnerable on such a deep level; he didn't even have anything to grab onto as the hardness ( _so big, so big, oh_ _ **god**_ ) began to slowly press into him. Straight through his clothes, through the fiercely burning resistance of muscle, through his strangled gasp that was cut off as he stopped breathing out of complete shock.

The phallus took its time penetrating him, slowly steadily spearing him without any other contact or lubrication; using nothing but blunt force to ream open Light's unwilling body. It wouldn't _stop_ , far longer and larger than any human cock; it continued to press slowly in until Light couldn't hold his breath any longer and he let out trembling whimper that sounded pathetically weak even to his own ears.

It hurt, _it hurt_.

By the time it stopped moving, pressed in to the hilt with Light's ass trembling precariously around the breaking point girth, tears had already begun to flow from his cinnamon eyes. Light shivered wide-eyed, panting with pain and squirming in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, to loosen the tightness, dislodge the tearing ache. Whatever it was, it was in him, it was _inside_ him, and that thought alone made him want to tear his own skin off and escape.

The monstrous member didn't move; content to remain lodged deeply inside Light with no other contact to distract him as he continued to gasp and hyperventilate. Light didn't know how much longer he could hold out against the pain; it took everything he had to stop himself from screaming, though on a distant and detached level he recognized that his silence was undoubtedly helped along by the beginnings of shock. His own body was gagging him as it tried to respond to the unexpected trauma.

Until, suddenly, the invader was gone, vanished like a deflated balloon, the pressure immediately releasing. Light collapsed in mindless, grateful relief, not knowing or caring what caused the phallus to evaporate as spontaneously as it appeared. He had barely begun to comprehend the disappearance when he suddenly felt the cock nudge at his entrance again, poised there as if for the first time, as if it had never penetrated him to begin with, unhesitatingly pressing forward once again.

The fleeting relief was eclipsed by the mind-numbing terror that flew up so fast and strong within Light he couldn't even form words. The hellish situation had somehow become worse; knowing what was about to happen, knowing the intimate pain which hadn't even had a chance to fade, and knowing there was nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , he could do to stop it.

This time, Light didn't hold back his voice.

It wasn't a scream; the sound wasn't pure enough for that but rather a guttural mixture of pain, anguish, confusion, rejection. This wasn't happening to him, he wasn't tied up in a cell, he wasn't being pressed into the floor by a rapist he couldn't see, he wasn't so helpless that his own broken voice echoed around the room, mocking him…

Because if he ignored everything below his waist, Light almost could believe it wasn't happening. The room was deathly silent aside from his own whimpering sobs, no perverted murmurs or grunts or even breathing. Nothing was truly touching him – he still had his clothes on – no shadows or scent but his own and yet somehow in the twilight trauma, he was being raped.

Once again the length of the shaft took an abnormally long time to hit its mark, shifting internal organs to accommodate the unreal size and once it stopped fully sheathed within him it disappeared, evaporating like his certainties.

And _again_ it was at his entrance, never having pulled out, ready to start the torture once more.

Light shook his head violently, bucking and spasming, _anything_ to dislodge the positioned head. But his struggles did nothing, the pressure followed his every move, not attached to a body, not attached to gravity, and it began to push in mid-buck, the tearing pain of it forcing Light to collapse and freeze. Moving around only seemed to hurt him on the impossibly long and thick cock. It rammed inside him so deeply he felt he might be able to taste it if he swallowed.

Light ended up on his back, legs pressed protectively together – though it did nothing to hinder the phantom phallus. Its movement had sped up slightly and it disappeared just as quickly to be replaced outside of his body. It was a slow powerful rhythm, like being crushed under a burning wave again and again, the tide languidly pulling his body one way or another but with him still drowning the entire time.

He couldn't stop the sobs that shuddered through him with each violent thrust; the rhythm had sped up and the previous penetration had only barely dissolved before it was being slammed into him again. The pain was undeniable but even that sharpness was overshadowed by the humiliation and disgust Light felt. Light could only be slightly grateful that the phantom hands didn't bother touching him anywhere else, it would have been too much if they reached around and molested him from the front like this.

Light was jerked out of his tearful trance by the sound of the cell door clicking back into place; he hadn't even noticed it had opened.

L stood stock-still in his typical scrunched pose and simply watched as Light was brutally, breathlessly taken. But all he could see was Light in an empty cell rhythmically spasming on the floor; it was obvious that he did not trust the situation.

Light welded his teeth together, smothering his voice and turning his face away even as the thrusts continued unabated. He desperately wished his hands were free, if only to wipe away the tears that still stained his cheek.

L continued to stare, though the customary finger was not in his mouth and his usually bored face was tense. The silence was only broken by Light's breathy whimpers, which leaked out despite everything; L gazed at his face as if tracking his efforts.

"Light-kun, what are you doing?" L finally asked, unable to come up with a more specific question.

Light cringed, knowing how he must look to L; there was just no way to explain what was happening to him.

"Something's… cutting me…" Light finally gasped, knowing very well it wasn't slicing but rather piercing, boring into him inch by agonizing inch. But to say that out loud, to admit to being helplessly penetrated – and especially to someone like _L_ – was something he just couldn't do. Being cut was the closest sensation he could think of and it wasn't too far from the truth either; Light was certain that, though it wasn't sharp, the "knife" was still making him bleed. It made him vaguely grateful that he was wearing black; L wouldn't be able to see the stains.

L made no move and Light couldn't blame him for his lack of reaction. Light could barely process what was happening himself; he knew it must be impossible to believe his actions weren't somehow self-inflicted from an outside perspective. And even if L did somehow know that Light wasn't faking, despite the twisted impossibility of it, there still wasn't anything he could _do_ about it. L may have been a genius, rich, powerful, and completely in control, but Light doubted his material wealth and deductive abilities would have any effect on the supernatural. How could L arrest someone he couldn't see or touch? Wasn't that limitation _exactly_ why Light Yagami was imprisoned to begin with as the Kira case languished on for months?

L couldn't catch Kira, a phantom killer, and so he locked up the next best thing. Light wanted to blame him somehow, accuse him, scream out his rage and pain and humiliation at the silent detective; somehow what was happening to him stemmed from L. His actions or his inactions, his false accusation or his perception of a deeper truth that even Light wasn't aware of.

L was the cause.

But when Light gathered his breath to speak, it wasn't to sling bitter barbs of condemnation but to whisper a plea.

"L… Please… I-I don't know what's happening to me… It _hurts_ and I can't… I can't… stop it."

The words were costly, but Light was too sore and scared to put on haughty airs. Though Light placed the blame for his current predicament squarely on L's shoulders, he also had no choice but to expect some sort of responsibility from him as well.

L was the cause but perhaps he could also be the cure.

"Light-kun, I do not understand exactly what is going on but I do believe that it is not by your will," L murmured, still wearing that tense mask, though Light couldn't tell if it stemmed from concern or distrust. He shuffled closer and Light instinctively curled up tighter, groaning lightly at the increased pressure he forced upon himself.

"I originally thought this was just an act to get my attention, perhaps to engender sympathy for you or distract from Kira. However, I can tell from your micro-expressions that your distress is real. Also, I doubt Light-kun would act so lewdly unprompted."

Light actually coughed out a harsh laugh at that, forcing another hot tear to roll down his cheek with the motion. He knew it was impossible to not notice the sexual nature of his stifled actions, but he had still harbored a weak hope that L might not interpret it that way. Hearing L actually say it out loud cemented the horrific recognition into reality and the only thing worse than the rape itself was having an observer. Light couldn't even suffer in isolation; he had to stifle every moan and sob, clinging desperately to any scrap of dignity he could reach with his bound hands. Had he been alone, Light would have been able to suffer through it, unhindered by any restraint, and then buried the entire episode so deep in repressed subconscious that not even L would be able to unearth it. But with L standing there watching it all happen, Light didn't even have the luxury of fooling himself. He had to come up with excuses that simply weren't there.

The invading cock continued to pound into him throughout everything and it was with a sinking sob when Light felt that it suddenly wasn't fading away between each thrust anymore. It stayed thick and solid inside him, physically drawing out before surging forward again, sincerely raping him now that there was enough blood to allow such a huge thing to move inside him.

L actually twitched and took a step back as Light's badly-muffled sobs suddenly morphed into unfettered howls of pain. The detective hesitated only a second longer before the gravity of the situation forced him into motion. Light barely noticed his approach, too wrapped up in the agony of being repeatedly impaled, and he jerked in fright when L was suddenly leaning down over him.

"Light-kun, listen to me. I believe that you are under assault from Kira, I can think of no other explanation for such an unexplainable attack. No one else would be able to get into such a highly monitored and secure building and we have already verified that Kira can attack without being present. But what is happening to you is highly irregular, not following any of Kira's previous patterns. I need you to tell me exactly what is happening to you."

Part of Light heard L and that part dimly realized what the words meant. If this was somehow Kira's doing, it meant he was more than likely going to die soon. Light surprised himself with the sudden wave of relief that hit his chest at that thought. It meant that he wasn't losing his mind, it meant that _he_ couldn't be Kira and, finally, it meant that this torture wasn't going to go on forever. Light couldn't distinguish which of the reasons was more important.

L leaned directly over him, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to gain his attention.

"Light-kun, please, you need to talk to me. Where does it hurt?" L simplified the question, his face finally betraying how concerned he was.

"L—it's… between my… in my…" Light groaned the words out, stammering between pants and spasms, but he couldn't finish. He couldn't say, and would never be able to say, what was happening to him out loud. But L already knew, he was just checking for some other potential reason, giving Light an out if possible. He seemed to be trying to spare Light the humiliation of naming it.

"I'm sorry, Light-kun, but I need to see. Please excuse me," L murmured, his face having gone completely blank once again. He shuffled around to Light's lower half before grabbing hold of his knees and forcing them apart. Light wailed in indignation, horrified and mortified at the action. With L suddenly crouched between his open legs and the alien thrusts not even slowing for a moment, Light couldn't shake the abrupt and terrifying impression that it was _L_ fucking him.

The eerie perception made something snap inside Light; the entire time he had been holding out against something he couldn't see or touch and now he had a target, a perpetrator. Even though he knew logically that it wasn't L doing such a horrible thing, he still couldn't clamp down on the instinctive fight-or-flight response the detective triggered. Light began to kick and thrash, rolling and bucking, trying anything to get L away from him.

L seemed to expect such a violent response and he was able to hold on, pinning Light down and pressing close to the hysteric boy.

"Light-kun! Please, you are only hurting yourself. I'm your friend, remember? I'm Ryuzaki and I'm not going to hurt you!" L had to yell the words; it was strange to hear the outburst from the normally quiet man but the words seemed to get through to Light. L was right, too, moving like that _did_ make the pain much worse and Light's retaliation only lasted a few seconds before he collapsed in a shivering heap of pain and exhaustion.

Without waiting for Light to recover, L quickly began touching him, not in a sexual manner at all but rather checking for blood or injury or some other trick as to why Light was in so much pain. He started at Light's ankles, carefully patting his way up the two trembling legs while Light continued to moan and whimper, bravely holding out against the agony as well as he could.

Suddenly L pressed his palm directly between Light's legs and it was so unexpected and yet so vital that Light's body grabbed at the excuse in an attempt to end the nightmare. L's fleeting touch set off a hair-trigger and Light screamed as a pleasureless orgasm ripped through him. He wasn't even hard and the unexpected climax did nothing but hurt him, forcing his walls to clamp down even harder on the already vice-tight girth that was fully seated within him as it happened.

In a delirium of pain, Light was certain that the wetness he could feel pulsing from his limp cock was blood rather than seed. Never before had his release been comparable to the sensation of a ruptured artery but Light knew something more than semen was draining out of him because suddenly the pain seemed very far away as a numb apathy rushed to settle in the wake of climax.

Light's consciousness, his mind, whatever sentient part of him that allowed him to _feel_ , lifted from his body, away from the pain, away from the horror, away from the helplessness and hovered in the room looking down on the scene. Light could see himself splayed out on the concrete, chest heaving and twitching, his eyes rolled back in his head, a rhythmic and rapid spasm still contorting his body as the rape continued on with an indifferent callousness… But Light couldn't feel any of it; some flip had switched and a survival mechanism activated so that he could detach himself when it became too much.

He saw, rather than felt, the giant heave of the cock as it filled his bowels with a sea of release, just as he knew in a distant way that the liquid felt cold and yet was as permeable and untouchable as the rapist himself had been, that it would evaporate into invisible mist the second it hit daylight. He watched as L worked him out of his pants but felt no embarrassment; merely observed as L's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in horrified disbelief.

He couldn't even feel it when L gathered him up into a protective embrace.

* * *

Ryuk chuckled lowly as his cock drew back into his body once more. There had been no need for it, honestly. Ryuk – and all shinigami for that matter – did not feel the biological need to mate and reproduce as humans did. But it was still fun to delve back into that primitive act every once in a while.

It was just like apples. He didn't _have_ to eat but it was nice to relish the crisp sweet flesh nonetheless and exercise his stomachs now and then.

Not to mention that there was no better way to get over withdrawal symptoms than by trading one vestigial practice for another. Like a bitter coffee to curb a hang-over, Ryuk could finally fully extend his twisted limbs which had been contorted for lack of fructose. The only difference was that, when he felt the echoes of hunger, the first thing that came to his mind was no longer apples but the salty-sweet blood of a genius which ran just as red.

And recalling Light's patient and meticulous methodology, Ryuk knew he had a long time before the human would regain his memories and begin providing apples once again.

The shinigami shrugged to himself.

All the more time for him to indulge in the archaic act. It didn't make much difference to him whether it was the sweet crunch of fruit or the sweet tear of flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry.


End file.
